Rain Bound
by Cracked-Vase
Summary: Tris, tired of being the ship-eater weather-witch, enrolls in Lightsbridge to learn the magic to actually make a living. Unfortunately, it turns out like nothing she's ever expected. Fic details first LB years. T/OC
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Silence. _

_Tris was alone, suspended in a mute world of black and grays. Wind whipped her braids around her face, lashing the trees into a fury far over her head. They stretched and groaned—silently—and what was left of their new spring-green snapped back and forth like tattered banners. She was on a wide country lane, the remnants of some stone wall hedging her in from the left. The right, through the tidy border of larch, was open pasture._

Tris…

_The redhead grabbed the folds of her cloak in a white-knuckled grip and kicked up her heels to run. Roots tripped her, and she fell noiselessly to the ground—_

"_TRIS! _Damn it, Coppercurls, couldn't you have nice, _quiet_ nightmares like everyone else?" There was a breeze on her face and she opened her eyes to her foster-brother's scowl.

"What happened?" She rasped, raking a hand through her braids to check their wards. All in place, but her hand shook.

"You were yelling loud enough to raise _ships_, merchant-girl," Daja muttered fiercely, crossing into the room and hunkering down at the foot of the bed. She laid her staff across her knees, forcing Tris to lever herself up sitting against the pillows to avoid being thunked. The red-head glared at her sister but Daja simply smiled unrepentantly and smoothed a finger over the designs on the staff's end.

Briar left and reappeared after a moment with a chair, which he straddled as he turned and looked at the girls. "So spill it, kid."

Tris glared at him and fumbled her spectacles onto her face. He came into focus and bars of white moonlight falling through open window threw his features into sharp relief. His expression was more open than she'd seen it in awhile—there were parts of Briar she simply couldn't share anymore—and kind. She sighed.

"Nightmare," Tris said, balling up a strand of the breeze that fluttered her curtains in her palms.

"Tell us something we didn't know, saati," Daja said impatiently, but tacked 'saati' on at the end to soften the words. Tris drew herself up some more and threw a glare at the other girl. Hmphing softly, she continued.

"I was in the county somewhere—looked like Emelan. Couldn't be sure. There was a storm—" She stopped, smothering the tremor in her voice.

"Oooh, storms. Scary thing, a storm, for a weather-witch." Briar's teeth were a white crescent in the dark and Tris eyed him darkly. He leaned forward, balancing on the chairs hind legs and took her hand, squeezing. She squeezed back and he dropped it.

"It was silent, and I guess that was the worst part." Tris shrugged, running a meditative finger up and down the ridges of a braid. "And I started running. Roots tripped me—and I woke up. Not so bad as nightmares go, I guess."

"That was all?" Daja asked, stifling a yawn with a large, calloused brown hand. When she saw her friend's outrage, she offered a smile. "Look, I know about nightmares. They don't always have sense in them."

Briar let the chair fall back onto all legs and rested his head on his crossed arms. "Me too. I've some teas that might help, if this 'comes a regular thing."

Tris shook her head and drew he legs from under the blankets, swinging them to the ground. Little Bear lay stretched across her slippers and moved with a grunt as she rolled him over with a foot. She rose, slipping her feet into the kidskin—a gift from Niko, some years back—and crossed to the window. The view still took her by surprise sometimes because it wasn't the one from Discipline, but it was still nice.

"There you go, Coppercurls." Briar swung a leg over the back of the chair and rose, graceful as a cat. Daja caught Tris's eye and rolled her eyes. "You're color's better already. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I'm going to go catch a few more winks before Rosethorn comes to haul my weary hide down to the Water Temple come morning."

"More work?" Tris asked, glad to be moving away from the topic of her nightmare. As the terror was fading, she found embarrassment in its place—she didn't _like _causing a commotion.

"We're doing a little herb zapping. They need to be at peak—we're shipping them up the coast where there was a case of an outbreak of something. I dunno—I only just kept my dearest, most tireless mentor from racing up there and dragging her most _not _tireless and rather long-suffering student along with her. I'm a martyr, you know—" Briar flashed Tris another grin and she gave him a small smile in return. As he passed out the door, he tugged on the end of a braid.

"We know," Daja said with a grin, sliding off the bed and arching her back in a stretch. "I think I'll go down to the smithy—there's a project in the works and I need a bit of quiet before the day starts. Want to come, Tris? I could set you to work pulling gold while I set up."

"Are those guild toads still after you?" Tris asked, shutting the door behind Briar and tugging up the end of her nightdress. She'd lost her shyness of changing in front of her sisters some time ago, and Daja moved to pull the curtains to give her privacy.

"Yeah." The Trader ran a thumb over the end of her staff, frowning. "They'll leave off eventually—once they figure I'm not doing any harm."

"I guess. I could always—"Tris shrugged into a sturdy housedress, struggling for a moment to pull the narrowest part over her bust. She was the only one of the whole group to be of the 'busty persuasion' as Lark called it, and it irked her to no end. "I could always grouch at them a little if they bother you too much, you know. Just point me."

Daja laughed, leading the way out of the room. "Don't tempt me, merchant-girl. It sounds like it'd be too much fun."

"I know." Tris said with a wicked sparkle in her eye.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Morning was slow in coming and by sun-up, Tris had several lengths of wire pooled at her feet. Chime was curled about her neck, tail stirring the air lazily. Every once in awhile, Tris reached up a hand to pat the dragon's head absently, and Chime crooned in response. A steady stream of breezes brought the city to the redhead, wafting through the open double doors of the smithy. Images came too, and sounds—Tris sorted through them with a practiced hand, mentally making note of those that were interesting enough to pass on.

An unseasonably warm breeze wafted over her face, bringing her a colorful vision of two women, one dark-skinned and with features as familiar to the weather witch as her own. The other woman, however, was something of a surprise, but Tris shrugged to herself; she'd known of her friend's sexual preferences since Namorn and it meant very little to her but that Daja was happy. The woman kissed Daja on the cheek, shifted a heavily laden basket onto the smith's arm, and they parted ways outside the smithy.

"Why, don't you look charmingly domestic?" Tris asked, smirking at her friend as the smith stepped through the door. Carefully, she passed the last of the metal through the draw. Gathering up the worked wire, she withdrew some wax from Daja's workbench and set to running it over the newly made wire. "Is that breakfast?"

The Trader cast her a mock glare, and slung her burden onto a bench. "Yes. I swear, the way that Sandry kept after me, you'd think I kept you chained to my bellows and fed on dried crusts. Laila sent a jar of her preserves too."

"So nice to know I'm cared for," Tris replied, rubbing the beeswax in quick, practiced strokes, then holding the wire up to the light for Daja's inspection. The fact that this was the first time that Daja had mentioned her new partner was carefully overlooked and the only awknowledgement was a brief smile from Daja.

"That's fine," The Trader said, running a finger along a length of it. "Good."

Dropping the wire on the bench, Tris wiped her hands on her skirts then slid the basket onto her lap and began to rummage through. She emerged with half a loaf of bread, a jar of peach jam, and a small crock of butter.

Several spools of copper wire later and Tris was beginning to suspect that she was simply there as cheap labor. _So what is this for, Daj'? Are we attempting to drown ourselves in copper wire or is it for a slightly less nefarious purpose? I mean, honestly, who would--_

There was a clatter of hooves on the cobblestones outside and the dulcet, honeyed tones of Sandry at her worst. Daja shot Tris an arch look and the pair of them mentally ran through the list of the usual suspects.

_Pascal, you think? _Tris speculated thoughtfully, wiping an errant bead of sweat on the hem of her apron. Chime launched herself into the air and circled lazily for a moment before landing atop an anvil, preening under Daja's touch.

_The voice is too deep. _Said Daja, tickling the dragon under the chin absently,_ My money's on one of those blasted _suitors _Sandry keeps on hold. You'd thi—_

_TRIS!_ Sandry's harried mental voice cut through. _Tris, it's that admissions proctor from Lightsbridge. I hope you've got your story straight! _

Raised voices drifted through, Sandry loudly insisting she was perfectly capable of dismounting herself. Sweetly, but her sisters could easily pick up on her exasperation. Tris frantically worked her medallion up over her head and, casting Daja a quick look, shoved it over the smith's.

_This way your medallion can hide mine's aura. I really wished we'd had more time—_Tris swept a hand over her braids, checking her wards out of reflex. There was no way the man _wouldn't _know who she was, really, it was obvious, and there would go her chances at regular schooling, curse it—

_Relax Coppercurls, _Briar's voice was a calming caress on her mind, and in a moment his lithe form was sliding through the smithy's rear window. _I'm here. Play along, alright? And he won't suspect a thing. Honestly, you'd've thought I didn't do right by you and never taught you to lie._

Rapidly he snatched her glasses from her face and swung the scarf from his waist over her hair. His fingers were tangled in her hair as Sandry swept through the smithy door with her guests in tow. Cursing, Briar finished the knot and stepped away.

"These two are my foster-siblings, Daja and Briar, and then, Briar's friend, Nahada. She's the one you're looking for—the one I'd written you about earlier? She has some promise to my eye, though her eligibility for the university is entirely in your hands." Sandry, to her credit, didn't bat an eye at the lie. Daja gagged her friend's tone behind a hand, and Briar's eyes danced with laughter.

_Curse it, Sandry, Nahada? _Tris groaned at the noble. Nahada?!_ Argh—I thought that we'd agreed on some nice _non-_magely name. Something—_

_Naddy. You're going to be the only mage with a name like an insult. Hey you, NADDY! _Briar was entirely too pleased with himself, stifling a laugh into a shirt cuff.

_Or like a dogs'. Heeey Naddy-naddy. _Daja added, her laughter bouncing about Tris's skull.

"Really, Master Leighman, it's no trouble at all." Sandry's voice positively exuded saccharine sweetness as she swept through the smithy door and, impervious to the silent exchange, the proctors allowed Sandry to precede them into the smithy. One had the look of the scholar about him, eyes squinting up as they studied the other three; the other was obviously someone too full on his own importance, and much too aware of his own power. Briar's lips thinned as he suppressed his immediate reaction to the men and Sandry shot him a glower, temper obviously already sorely tried by the monkeys in magistrate's robes.

"Stories of your charm don't do you justice, my lady." The bureaucrat gave Sandry an oily smile and patted her hand, tucked over one of his beefy arms. Ever the noble, Sandry merely met the compliment with a polite crinkling of the eyes that didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the group. Briar, for all the world as if he acted the same every day, walked up to enfold the stitch-witch in a hug and drew her away from her companions in the same motion under the cover of his arm.

The bureaucrat seemed put-out for a moment, but then turned his head to examine Tris.

The wind-witch drew herself up a little, squaring her shoulders, but stared blankly somewhere past the man's left ear. Her hands, gathered behind her back, were slick with sweat.

"Nahada?" The scholar spoke for the first time. He had a tired voice, but kind. More like the sound of wind in pines, Tris thought, than, say, in an oak—a kind of pointy, sharp sound. Tris found herself liking the man despite herself, his directness so much like Niko's. "It's a simple test to decide your best discipline, all dependant upon your abilities as decided here. A brief demonstration would be sufficient for our purposes—is this agreeable to all parties?"

Tris nodded, doubts expertly dissembled behind her eyes, and the bureaucrat merely slumped a little lower as Briar, Sandry on his arm, led the group into the bright sunshine of the smithy's courtyard.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"My name is Master Erdus Gix, For the test, I will require a bucket with water." The scholarly proctor was seated on the lip of the low wall that encircled Daja's smithy, patting his vest pockets absently as he spoke. In the light, Tris could see he was a slight, older man, all knobs and ends like a life-sized scarecrow. When he withdrew a gold-gilt pair of spectacles and placed them atop his fleshy nose, they were comical odds with his person and he smiled with self depreciating humor at the group.

"Before we commence any test, I believe it would be prudent to furnish you with a brief explanation of what we're about to work here. There's no time to go into the specifics of the stuff, but magic is best thought of as a whole, complete force—energy is most accurate, I believe, because the word 'magic' conjures too up too much of a more ignorant infatuation with mysticism. Though 'magic' and 'mage' are still the accepted vernacular, 'energy' is—" The bureaucrat cleared his throat abruptly and the scholar sighed.

"While magic suffuses the world, seen or unseen, it may be diverted in separate ways. Some beings have more comprehensive understanding of a branch of energy—yes, _energy—_than others, a more intuitive knowing of it, but adopting one method by which to access this energy is, for the most, in no way mutually exclusive to adopting another." Gix ushered Tris over as she approached from the far end of the courtyard, a sloshing bucket braced against her leg. She set it down at his feet and he nodded wearily.

"Of course, the fact that everyone has energy hardly means every slack-jaw can access it," Master Leighman stipulated in the silence, "There are some that don't have so much a connection as to access it at all. These would, of course, be the common folk."

_Of course, _Briar said, silently offering his opinion on bloodsucking bureaucrats in fine silks, their mothers, and their personal hygiene. Tris, falling inelegantly down onto a stool across from the scholar, checked a grin.

"There are other exceptions too, with regards to people of an advanced age who have only ever explored one branch of magic." Gix continued, removing the lenses to scuff a kerchief across them before replacing them on his nose and continuing, "The energy becomes too used to the shape of the vessel—that is to say, too used to only being manifest in one form."

At Daja's frown, he shrugged. "Think of it as you might a pastry chef asked to produce a hearty soldier's fare, or visa versa. While it's not impossible to teach, say, an older ambient mage academic magic, it's no easy feat. Indeed, the study needed to achieve a master of both demands nearly a lifetime of work.

"Now, as you've decided to study academic," His brows furrowed and he sighed, "_Magic, _you begin with a test to best decide your aptitude within the discipline. It is a simple scrying spell, though I must ask for something with which to direct it. A hair would do—"

Wordlessly, Tris worked a strand free from the braids and, with a sharp tug, pulled it then laid it over the man's hand.

"Thank you, Nahada." With a peculiar twist of his fingers, the scholar sent the hair drifting lazily onto the surface of the water and began to murmur urgently. In the next motion, there was a small flask in his hand, open and contents pouring into the bucket.

The next few moments saw no change, though the whispered words changed every once in awhile in cadence and rhythm. The contents from the flask sat uneasily on the top of the water, seeming to lazily coalesce about the hair like a sentient thing. Tris eyed the mage warily, _What's he doing, do you think?_

Sandry gave a discrete shrug as Briar crouched down, green eyes curious as he watched. _By the smell of it, I'd say it's worrywood and cats' bane, a mayhaps sommat else. Wonder what Rosethorn'll say to it; I don't think I've ever run across these in tandem, and they're a curious mix._

With no more of a whisper of warning, the bucket began to smoke, water roiling as steam rose in a tight, pearly pillar. It rose, and, with all the suddenness of its coming, disappeared. Gix was leaning over, the bucket balanced loosely on his knee as he peered over the rim.

"Well, seems you're well suited to this lot. After you conclude your education in general academia, I'm going to set you down for spell-work and runes. I do believe you'll find you have an aptitude for it." Gix lowered the bucket to the flagstones carefully, stiffly as though even the simple effort took a toll. Daja wordlessly left and returned with a dipper of water, which she offered up silently and he accepted.

"I do believe, then, that our business is done here. Yes?" Leighman asked, second chin dancing merrily as he swooped in to recapture Sandry's arm. The blond mage froze and, for a moment, her foster-siblings were cheerfully united in the hope the young noblewoman would simply knot the man's bootlaces. The moment passed, however, and Sandry removed her arm with a small, terse smile.

"Yes," Gix shrugged, breaking the ensuing silence and seeming to unfold himself until he stood. To Tris, he seemed to be doing his utter best to appear unflappable and harmless--a useful skill, she thought, if he spent much time in the company of Leighman.

The bureaucrat in question strode over to the tethered horses and addressed Tris carelessly over his shoulder, "My dear, if you find that you're able to ready yourself by the morrow, we will leave for Lightsbridge by carriage at the first morning bell. If not, we cannot wait and you must make your own way." He helped Sandry into the saddle and, face red with the effort, took to his own.

The weather witch rose, tucking her hair up into the scarf with swift, sure movements. Her bags were in Daja's loft, of course, but she wasn't unused to packing quickly. Daja touched her arm as she passed to return the stool to the smithy, and Tris sighed.

"No, I'll be there," She murmured. Both of the men gave her a low bow, and she offered a stiff curtsy in return. "Master Leighman, Master Gix."

"It was a pleasure," Gix intoned carelessly as he shuffled awkwardly onto his mount. "On the morrow, then."

"On the morrow."

AN: Gah. Character-ness, yes? No? Gaaaaaaah.

Anyway, I know that this was a rather dry chapter. There was just something in the flow that was really...irking. If anyone has any ideas about what it was, please, let me know! I'm always looking to improve. Also! Thank you times a _million _to everyone who reviewed. I read and cherish them all, and I love it madly when people offer me advice and what not (KrisEleven~), and finding out what people enjoyed about it. I hope everyone found my explanation for the magic sniffers alright!

Love, K.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was a dim morning and only a pale, weak sunlight that fell onto the weather witch's upturned face. She'd dressed for the weather, bundled to her chin in a dark traveling cloak that repelled the rain as easily as oilskin. It was a parting gift from Sandry, same as the austere gray riding habit she wore beneath the cloak and the folded dresses in her travel things.

Packed, too, were the parting gifts from Daja and Briar: from the former, a simple, elegantly wrought chain in gold. From the latter was a charm carved in rock—or wood, as Briar would tell it, but so old that it didn't remember itself anymore. The symbols on the pendant's face were unfamiliar to her, crudely done and smoothed by time. When she'd asked where he'd come across it, Briar was silent a moment before shrugging, "It's just a nice sparkly, Coppercurls. I found it in a bad place, but it's still—"

He paused, and Sandry had jumped in with, "Lovely." Briar had screwed up his face at the word, but allowed it to pass.

Tris dropped her face from the skies and focused instead on the black-tipped, twitching ears of the pony Sandry had sent to collect her from Daja's loft. She'd miss them all sorely. Lightsbridge was much too far away to allow for easy communication, and with a pang, the thought came that she was going to lose them so soon after having gotten them back…

She shook her head, frowning fiercely, and pushed her thoughts what was at hand. To the far end of the square, the carriage was being loaded and the horses yoked. The bureaucrat was arguing with the holster—the wind brought snippets of their exchange, and she caught the phrase 'highway robbery!' with a grin—while the scholar huddled under his cloak and watched on bemusedly.

Dismounting with a sigh, Tris crossed the flagstones to the group and found herself rapidly assimilated into the argument. She'd heard it said, once, that it was always better to be doing, and Tris believed it with every fervently industrious bone in her body; there would be time enough to miss them all later.

*

This was the way that Sandry found her, when she arrived half an hour later with Daja and her usual entourage. In the intervening time, the red-head had managed to upend the stable so that they resembled more an upset anthill than anything else. Hands scrambled back and forth with luggage, straps, harnesses, and roadway amenities while Tris, lips set into a cheerfully determined line, engaged in a fierce debate with the head holster.

When the man saw Sandry, his face lit up, "My lady! I entreat you, please tell this young extortionist that I can simply go no lower—"

"I'll settle for sixty, Master Wersen, no more." Tris offered, adopting a serenely gleeful expression as he agreed. Sandry traded a grin with her over the man's head: _Enjoying yourself, saati?_

_Immensely, _Tris replied, shaking the dew out of the folds of her cloak briskly. _We should be ready to go soon. The proctors are arranging for lunch on the road._

_How soon? _Daja asked as she dismounted, patting the animal absently as she did. _Briar sends his love, but we thought it'd be best that they didn't see us all together again. It wouldn't take much for some bright thing down at the university to put two and two together._

They were right, of course, but it would've been _nice…_Tris frowned at herself, and turned to face the carriages. Daja touched her arm as she passed, and Sandry her shoulder. Their good-byes couldn't be more than those between two acquaintances, and the red-head's heart constricted a little as she raised her hands and pressed back.

_I'm fine, really. I'll be back for the winter solstice and what time I get off in the spring, _Tris stepped forward purposefully, and the two girls let their hands drop. From the entrance to the Hub, the proctors emerged with each carrying a loaded basket; within moments, they were pulling out of the courtyard.

As they clattered out of the last Winding Circle gate, Tris was caught by a sudden pang of loneliness. She lay her head against the side of the jolting carriage, and miles down the road, slipped into a miserable, fitful sleep.

*

She was cranky when she woke, and cold. There was a stiff wind blowing from the north, hissing as it entered the carriage. _Enough of _that, _my lad,_ Tris snarled, mentally giving the wind a brisk redirect.

There was a sigh from the corner opposite hers, and the low, tired voice of Gix, "Blasted wind abated. I'd near lost hope."

There was a grunt of assent from Leighman, and then silence. The man was dosing in the corner, head resting on his chest and bobbing gently to the roll of the carriage. Seeing Tris awake, the scholar nodded to her pleasantly, "I thank you for taking care of that business with the stables. I'm useless when it comes to those sorts of things."

Tris nodded, at once feeling artless and surly. Gix studied her for a moment, dark eyes sharp underneath his sagging brows. She suffered his examination without comment.

"So, Nahada, you're bound for Lightsbridge. May I ask why?" Gix's voice was kind, though almost inaudible over the clamor of the road.

"I want to be useful." The answer was close enough to the truth, thought Tris.

Leighman raised a heavy brow and she returned the look stonily. "There are many other ways to be _useful, _you know."

"Of course," Tris said, much more sharply than she'd intended, "But this is a definite niche in the world. There is always a demand for a healer or charm-warden, and beyond that, I do enjoy academia for its own sake."

"You do? Tell me, what schooling have you had?" He was being unfailingly patient and kind, and Tris found herself resenting him for it. She glared at her boots, then steeled herself with a breath.

"My family are merchants, and based out of Emelean." Explained Tris, "They saw to it that I had a good education; I know my letters, and arithmetic, rhetoric—"

"All the trappings of a formal education, then, if not the actuality." Said Gix thoughtfully. "That should give you something to start with. To tell the truth, most that we accept begin their schooling slightly earlier than you, though there will certainly be more than enough students your own age to keep you company. I only teach the serious graduates and tutor in magical theory, but I'm always happy to advise incoming students. Should you ever need it, the offer is there."

Tris gave him measuring look, feeling suddenly very apologetic for her display of temper earlier. After a moment of surly silence, she added, "Thank you."

The silence stretched on, though it was now a vaguely comfortable one. Gix withdrew a small book from his coat—_On the Morrow: Forecasting Futures—_leaving Tris to her own devices. She half wished, with her melancholia returning, that he'd continued the conversation. It was to be a long drive to the almshouse where they would stay for the night, and her thoughts were uneasy bedfellows.

AN—Inspiration strikes again! As always, reviews are always much appreciated and critiques much cherished. Thanks again, Requiem!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The night spent at the almshouse was a pleasant one, spent in idle chatter over the evening meal and followed by an early turn in. The wind that had followed them through their journey had abated, and in the morning, a white fog curled over the countryside like a long, fat, lazy cat.

Inside the carriage, Gix lectured on the dubiousness of certain characters on the faculty, dormitory meatloaf, and the underclassmen. He helped the hours pass, and it wasn't long before Tris was beginning to reflect little more easily on her future.

Noonday meal was taken along the side of the road, the fog dissipating to be replaced with skies given to fits of cloud and bright sunshine by turns. Tris found herself lost in thought, periodically checking that the magical cords that connected her to her family back in Winding Circle still remained. They were just in range, Briar still at work in the Water Temple's infirmary while Daja and Sandry shared lunch with the Duke. Too far away to speak with easily, but…within reach, Tris thought, and the little ball of misery she'd held in her chest eased a bit. They had reunited only so _recently, _to lose them again…

"Several more hours in that blasted rattler," Leighman muttered to Gix, rubbing the shiny crown of his head mournfully. "These jaunts to Emelan certainly do take it out of a man. I do not look forward to tomorrow morning's lecture, though the children do _pine _for me when I neglect them—"

"You teach?" The girl interrupted. Gix, who was supporting the bureaucrat's right side as they made their way back to the carriage, raised a brow and she colored; shock was probably not the most flattering of reactions, perhaps. Master Leighman shot her a dark look.

"When my duties as a chair member don't take me elsewhere, yes. Just a small class, those who've made the Dean's list. Suppose it's more of an unofficial club, really, students who dabble in the more arcane bits of magic. Very elite." Leighman sniffed, all wounded dignity. Tris was forcefully reminded of her first impression of a rooster in fine clothes. "Don't know if you'd make it, girl. Usually the students show an aptitude right from the go, and your portents were rather uninspiring to say the least."

Tris's mouth popped open with indignation. "I assure you, Master Leighman, I am entirely capable—"

"Not everyone has earthquakes and comets, Raleigh." Gix inserted himself into the conversation seamlessly, his long face blank of expression but for a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. "Some how we all manage just fine."

"Her sign was _wispy," _Leighman said petulantly, but allowed himself to be bundled into the carriage. "Who has clouds for portents, anyway? Not any proper mage, Erdus. _I _had a fireball. Biggest one the sniffer said he'd ever seen."

When she went to enter the carriage herself, the scholar sent her a surreptitious grin. To her surprise, Tris found an wry grin rising in reply; so _this _is what it meant to be normal!

* * *

The carriage reached Lightsbridge sometime past midnight, clattering and clanging into the stone courtyard. Roused from a deep sleep, Tris passed a hand over her eyes dazedly and rapidly took stock. Both of the proctors were still sleeping, and somehow this was fitting. Tris wanted her first sight of Lightsbridge to be entirely her own.

There was a cold immediacy in the moment she descended. A chill, penetrating damp was falling, but the weather-witch took no notice. If hers were a romantic soul, Tris thought with a smile, she would've described it as a sort of homecoming, the evening fog lit with lamplight from hundreds of windows and the night made warm and golden.

"Welcome to Lightsbridge, Nahada." Master Gix was alighting stiffly, but his eyes were on her. "You know, there's always something magical about seeing undergraduates lay eyes on her for the first time. You can always tell which ones will really love it here—I dare say, clouds or no, you'll do just fine."

Tris gave him a shy smile, hugging the folds of her cloak to her. He'd caught her in an unguarded moment, but it was somehow alright. "Thanks. I very much hope so."

Gix clapped her on the shoulder before setting off to rouse a holster, and Tris once again turned her eyes upward towards the golden lights.

AN: Alright, sorry for the long wait guys! Stuff going on and I'm afraid I was rather _agonizing _over this chapter. There's something…strung out about it. Idk. Dislike, but whatever. As always, please tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Something pelted her cheek and there was a white-hot flash of pain. She was in the city? The reek of fish made her choke, and the streets were rain-slick underfoot. When she spared it a thought, she could hear the roar and crash of the sea somewhere beyond the storm._

_The rain drummed a furious, wild tempo on Tris's skull and ran rivulets drown her scalp. Squalls of wind drifted across the street, drawing up debris and detritus, then hurling it free again. Loose cobbles torn up from the storm tripped the witch as she pelted down the wide main street. _

_There were hands clasped in hers; two cloaked persons kept pace with her stumbling progress. They were leading her onward, though somehow entirely dependent on her powers—everything, it seemed, was dependent on her. Their hands, warm and strange, were shackles that kept her to her course._

Just a little more, Nahada. Mila bless us, I think we might make it. _A voice was in her mind,__faint with exhaustion._

_And far off, so far that their words were the barest feather-touch on her mind, Tris could hear her foster-siblings' screams, their voices stripped bare with pain._

The weather witch woke screaming herself, holding her cheek. Her heart throbbed in her throat, sounding in her ears like a faint drumming against the stiff silence of the little room. A woman, long graying wisps framing her face, stood over the bed with her hand poised to deliver another slap.

Tris's mouth closed with a snap. The two women stared at each other for a moment; the pain was fading from her cheek now, though the emotions which prompted her outburst left Tris hiding her trembling hands beneath the covers.

"You were screaming, Miss" said the woman, her eyes direct and business-like in a broad, well-lined face. When no more hysterics were forthcoming, she backed up a step and sank into the room's only chair. "Night-terror?"

"Yes," The red-head's voice was a harsh rasp, and she raised a hand to her throat. Her blood was still a hot roar in her ears, subsiding only slowly.

"I do hope these are not an often occurrence." There was a moment's pause in which the woman looked Tris over coolly. "I'm Wardess Glosser, in charge of the women's student commons. You may address me as Wardess."

"I'm—" Tris paused and drew a breath. Propping herself on her arms, she sat up and folded her hands, now still, over the coverlet. "I apologize for causing a disruption. I'm Nahada Tamine, from—"

"You're the new transfer from Winding Circle. Yes, I've been well-appraised of your situation, Miss Tamine. I'm pleased to welcome you to Lightsbridge." The Wardess was conducting a bald assessment, and Tris felt obscurely naked under the woman's gaze. "Should you have any questions, feel free to address them to me or any of the other prefects."

"Thank you," Tris muttered, and the wardess gave a stiff nod of acknowledgement. Silence stretched on, the terror of the dream rapidly being replaced with growing mortification. When she could stand it no more, she snapped, "I'm sorry, when did you say I would begin my classes?"

The tartness in her voice drew a small, tight smile from the other woman. There was no genuine amusement there, and the expression left Tris with the distinct impression that Wardess Merriweather had already formed a cheerfully dire opinion of her newest charge.

"I didn't, Miss Tamine, and I won't. I generally leave that sort of thing to the prefects—it'll be arranged that one will take you in hand, lead you around for the first few weeks, and act as a mentor during the first year. We can sort that out later, perhaps after breakfast." Wardess shook out her skirts as she stood, then smoothed the folds. "I expect to see you within the hour. I'm sure that should give you sufficient time to dress and settle?"

Tris nodded, and other woman swept out. The door—a sturdy, well-hung, hickory affair—shut with a jarring thunk and the silence rushed to fill the void of the other woman's presence. The weather witch stared at her hands, brought now to clasp before her, for a long moment before she raised her face to look around.

The room, now that she had a chance to examine it, was no larger than the Discipline linen closet. A solitary window overlooked the courtyard, small and painted over—a fact the red-head noted with some dismay. A desk, rickety and scuffed, took up the whole of the wall underneath the window. The room was whitewashed which was at least familiar and the light that came through the curtains did so patchily, laying on the floor in tidy, friendly squares.

Tris pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, rubbing wearily. Frankly, it was an inauspicious start, if not a complete failure of a new beginning. The dream was coming back, too, the silence of the room an eerie counterpoint to the cacophony of the docks she'd heard. When she spared it a thought, there was a distant, ghostly throb in her hands—similar, Tris imagined, to that which would follow having a death hold on the hands of two companions as they ran through gale-scoured streets.

"Cat dirt," said the redhead, muttering savagely under her breath as she thrust her feet out of the covers. "Cat dirt, cat dirt, cat dirt."

* * *

Author's Note: So. It's been a long time, hasn't it? (To which, make that a _looooooong _time. I've missed you all!) Anyway, I'm holding true with this one probably-or almost definitely-out of sheer stubbornness. I've been doing this fanfiction thing since I was 11, guys, and I still have only ever finish 6 stories of which 4 were one-shots. Sad, yeah?

But! In my corner of the world, it is summer which means vaguely industrious mornings, lazy afternoons, and uncomfortably warm evenings. I have great plans, you know? So there's hope. In any case, I'm just crazy about Tiffany's! And reviews! Probably more about reviews, if we were all dead honest. You all know what to do. Thanks for reading!


End file.
